


Described by Touch

by artisan447



Category: Magnificent Seven (TV)
Genre: M/M, Romance, Season/Series 01
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-12-21
Updated: 2007-12-21
Packaged: 2017-10-02 16:14:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8259
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/artisan447/pseuds/artisan447
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>For Tonny, who asked for the "You've been a bad boy..." scene in ODOW. Although, this is a very loose interpretation and likely not at all what she had in mind!</p>
    </blockquote>





	Described by Touch

**Author's Note:**

> For Tonny, who asked for the "You've been a bad boy..." scene in ODOW. Although, this is a very loose interpretation and likely not at all what she had in mind!

The early afternoon sun stripes a lazy path through the curtains and across the bed as Ezra lifts a hand to trace careful patterns over the naked body beside him. Propped up on one elbow he stares, mesmerised by the motion of his fingers as they linger over the ridges and valleys formed by strong chest muscles and ribs.

He doesn't have much experience with this kind of leisurely exploration -- in the past his encounters have been more about back rooms and hiding and the complete absence of emotion. But this is different, so much better and he wants it, wants it to last, wants to find a way to stretch time so that each delicious second is more like a minute, an hour, a day than the all too fleeting moments that are all they have now.

There's a sudden sharp rise in the movement of the chest he's exploring as Chris sucks in a breath and Ezra forces his eyes upward -- up over that long neck, across that tempting mouth to meet the heated gaze of half-lidded hazel eyes. Pupils wide and dark, skin glossy with sweat, Chris Larabee stretched naked across his bed is the very embodiment of his most debauched fantasies.

He pauses for a second to press his palm down flat, trying to absorb the essence of this man. Gather the heavy beat of that strong, vital heart and re-work it into something tangible he can take into himself.

But the tidal wave of desire that sweeps him along in its path is almost too much -- even his vision seems brighter, colours more intense, detail more obvious -- and he lets his eyes fall closed. A small, pessimistic part of him still wonders at this connection he's found. Six months ago he'd never have thought he'd have something like this -- something that's more than a casual arrangement, more than sex. Just ... more.

So he's glad for the telltale heat of arousal that floods up and over his skin, the flush of warmth as his blood flows faster, the multitude of tiny prickles as small hairs tighten -- they're a tangible reminder that this is not just a figment of his imagination. That it _is_ happening, is _real_.

Suddenly needing to break the intensity, he pushes up and slides a leg over strong thighs then settles back as Chris grunts and accepts his weight.

"So now that I have you right where I want you--" he says, voice husky, still watching his hands as they smooth up and over firm pectoral muscle, his fingers tingling in appreciation of the familiar textures of soft skin and coarse body hair, "--what shall I do with you, hmm?"

Chris pulls in another deep breath and arches under Ezra's touch, but his hands stay right where they are, open and passive on the bed, and he makes no effort to touch in return. It's amazingly arousing when Chris plays at being submissive like this and Ezra feels a familiar tug deep in his chest as he indulges this need.

"I don't know, Ezra," Chris finally drawls, his voice a low, husky burr. "Looks like you're holding all the cards."

Ezra slides his hands higher, using his thumbs to tease soft nipples into firm peaks. "Oh, indeed," he murmurs then leans forward until his mouth is mere inches from its target, "and you know how much I love to win at cards."

With a low sound that's almost a growl, Chris finally breaks and lifts a hand, running it up and over the curve of Ezra's ass. The downward pressure brings their cocks together in a rough slide, and it's good, so good Ezra can hardly bear it. His breath stutters and hitches as calloused fingers dip into the crease between his cheeks and then the wandering hand slows and settles on the small of his back. The other hand is moving too, first in the valley between his shoulders, then upward, caressing his neck and finally coming to rest at the base of his skull. With a gentleness that would shock most of his acquaintances, Chris's strong fingers cradle his head.

Ezra's riveted, focused, panting through his mouth and rocking his hips to find just the right friction when suddenly Chris lifts his head to close the distance between them. His mouth is warm and soft and holds the sharp tang of coffee and the cheroot he smoked after lunch. It tastes like Chris, like affection and desire and need.

Ezra's so lost in his exploration he barely notices when Chris hooks a heel over his calf and tightens his hands. Then they're rolling and after a dizzying second of movement, their mouths separate and Ezra's on his back, looking up at an intent face. It feels like a lifetime that he stares into dark, knowing eyes, then that lush mouth lowers, again, to take his.

It's a wet, dirty kiss this time - lips and teeth and tongue -- and he could almost combust from the internal fire that flares and rises to meet the already rampant flush of his skin. By the time Chris finally lifts his head, Ezra's heart is pounding a rapid tattoo inside his chest.

"It seems I've lost my advantage," he whispers, running a tongue over his bruised bottom lip.

"Maybe you don't deserve to win," Chris answers, and a wicked grin curves his mouth. "You've been a bad boy."

Ezra's heart stutters and skips a beat at the reminder of their earlier exchange in the jailhouse. He'd known what Chris meant by that comment, has waited all day for this moment. "Ah, yes," he murmurs, anchoring his hands at Chris's hips and pressing upward against the solid weight of his body. "But not half as bad as I plan to be."

With a groan, Chris buries his face in the hollow of Ezra's neck and they pick up a rhythm, rocking together, the friction creating a delicious, burning need that leaves him gasping. "Don't stop," he mutters in a broken, desperate voice, "don't stop."

Chris is panting himself now, breath hot and ragged against Ezra's neck as he moves, and he huffs out an incredulous laugh. "I ain't stopping, Ezra," he whispers, low and urgent, "whatever else I'm doing I sure as hell ain't stopping."

His orgasm when it comes is almost shocking in its speed and intensity and he holds on tight to the muscled body slumped and still trembling above him. Anchoring himself, he holds on to the last fragile tendrils of release for as long as he can.

This thing they have, it's better than anything he's ever known, even his toes are twitching, and he wants to laugh out loud with the delight of it. He's never been this abandoned with anyone before and he can't care about control or appearances or any other of his own personal doctrines.

Over-sensitised skin twitches beneath his hand as he smoothes it up Chris's sweaty back and he smiles a satisfied, indulgent smile.

Maybe being a bad boy isn't as dreadful as his mother taught him to believe.

 

\--- the end ---


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